


Blaze

by Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo 2020 (Part One!) [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), The Fabulous Killjoys (Danger Days) Are Not MCR, Whump, party poison angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth/pseuds/Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth
Summary: The clap was going well until it wasn’t. The Fabulous Killjoys had driven up on a Drac patrol and caught them unawares in a shower of laserbeams and explosions. Five minutes in, and the clap was dying down. Party Poison stepped back to survey the scene, and that’s when one of the few remaining Dracs got them. Blaster fire caught them from behind, first in their shoulder, then through their knee. They hit the ground hard, unable to run or even hold their blaster. The Drac stood over them, rolling Poison onto their back with a burst of pain so sharp their vision went white.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul & Jet Star & Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo 2020 (Part One!) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767937
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	Blaze

The clap was going well until it wasn’t. The Fabulous Killjoys had driven up on a Drac patrol and caught them unawares in a shower of laserbeams and explosions. Five minutes in, and the clap was dying down. Party Poison stepped back to survey the scene, and that’s when one of the few remaining Dracs got them. Blaster fire caught them from behind, first in their shoulder, then through their knee. They hit the ground hard, unable to run or even hold their blaster. The Drac stood over them, rolling Poison onto their back with a burst of pain so sharp their vision went white. 

And Party Poison wakes up with a shout of pain in the back of a BLI van, hands roughly tied behind their back with rope. Their mask is missing, probably left behind. The one window set in the back door is glass, reinforced with metal mesh to make it impossible to shatter. Party Poison staggers to their feet, leaning heavily on the side of the van to compensate for the wound in their leg. Once they’re more or less standing in the moving van, they can see through the back window. There’s nothing but the desert and the road. 

Nobody’s coming for them. Party Poison is going to have to get themself the hell out of here without help, or die trying. They almost laugh to themself at the thought. When had such a cliche turn of phrase become their day-to-day life?

Shaking the thought from their mind, Poison slumps back to the floor of the van to take stock of the situation. They’re tied up and wounded in the back of a BLI van. There’s at least one Drac in the van, and if Poison waits until the van reaches its destination —likely Battery City— there will be dozens more just involved with their transportation and detainment. So the time to act is now. Poison looks desperately around for anything they can use to their advantage, and their eyes fall on a portion of the van where the metal body of it had been torn into, seemingly by blaster fire. A silent thanks to whoever had fired that shot, and Poison pushes themself across the van to the hole. They position themself with their back to the gash and use their uninjured shoulder to jerk their arms up and down. Slowly, painfully, Poison drags the ropes restraining them across the sharp metal edge until the fibers give way and their hands are freed. Poison barely allows themself time to rest before pulling themself back up to stand and look through the metal grate separating the back of the van from the front, where they can see the figures of two Dracs, one driving and the other silent in the passenger seat. Poison screams to get their attention, but neither even turns around. It must be against their protocols. They kick the sides of the van with their good leg, they jam their fingers through the holes of the grate and shove it until the van shakes with the force. Nothing. 

Eventually, Poison doesn’t even have the energy to stay standing hanging onto the grate, and they crumple painfully to the floor, hands shaking. Out of habit, they rummage through their pockets for a cigarette, stopping with a jolt of surprise when they grasp their lighter. It takes three tries to light it, and once more after they drop it when the van jolts. Poison takes a breath. There’s a high chance they won’t survive setting the van alight, but they have to. They can’t die a prisoner of BLI, can’t be Drac’d and turned against their crew. They only wish they had their mask. 

After a minute or so of holding their little flame to various synthetic areas of the van, Party Poison has a significant fire started, and eventually the Dracs take notice, braking suddenly and climbing out of the van to investigate. Poison barely notices. They’ve inhaled more smoke and melted chemicals than air in the past few minutes, and holding a hand over their mouth and nose won’t fix that. Their lungs burn from the smoke and heat, and the entire van is in flames when the Dracs finally fumble the lock off and swing open the back doors of the van. Poison hurls themself out of the van, landing hard on the pavement at the Dracs’ feet. One of the Dracs reaches for its blaster— the other appears injured and unarmed. Poison rolls beneath the burning van as the Drac fires, crying out when their skin touches the hot metal undercarriage. At their scream, the blaster fire increases in speed and ferocity, and Poison can hear it strike the already-flaming van. Shit. The van. Poison scrambles backwards away from the Dracs, towards the front of the van before rolling back out from under it. They try to stand, and fall again, wasting precious time. Poison half-crawls, lurching away from the van, falling facing away from the van just as it explodes from the fire and blaster shots, sending pieces of both Dracs high into the air, returning to the earth in sickening thuds. Poison doesn’t feel the heat of the explosion, or the dozen bits of shrapnel lodge in their back. They lie panting in the sand (also painfully hot, to which Poison is also numb), until regaining enough strength to drag themself back to the road, heading the opposite direction from where the Dracs were taking them. An hour goes by, and the wreckage of the van still litters the road in front of Poison, though they’re not sure if it means the explosion was particularly large, or if it means they haven’t made significant progress. Another hour passes, and Poison passes out in the middle of the highway, adrenaline and determination spent. 

They go down without a sound, and that’s how the Kobra Kid finds them, unconscious at the end of a trail of blood. Poison doesn’t wake up when he lifts their limp body onto his bike, and doesn’t wake up as the two of them rush to the diner at dangerously high speed. Poison does wake up when Fun Ghoul lays them facedown on a diner booth and begins digging shrapnel out of their back, cauterizing their blaster wounds. Poison screams and fights the entire time. There are no painkillers left at the diner, no way to keep Poison from feeling the pain and incoherent terror. They only stop screaming when they lose their voice, and Jet Star prays to the Witch that Poison will pass out again instead of having to feel the entire process. They don’t.

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the prompt: Lost their voice from screaming on my bad things happen bingo card! Request a prompt over on tumblr @wishiwasthemoon-tonight, or pop by to chat!


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